Free Death Comes to Kurland Hall by Catherine Lloyd Page B

I’ve been searching for the owner.”
    â€œNot to my knowledge. She preferred gemstones to simple trinkets.”
    â€œDo you or Dorothea remember losing one?”
    â€œI certainly did not. You will have to ask Dorothea herself. I do believe she has a locket that contains a lock of our father’s hair. I have no idea why she idolized him so when he couldn’t even tell us apart.”
    Lucy placed another box of lotions and perfume in the trunk, keeping her back to her companion. “I hesitate to ask you such a personal question, Miss Chingford—Penelope, if I may—but do you have family to help you manage this unfortunate situation?”
    â€œMy mother managed to alienate almost everyone. And, as she didn’t produce a male heir, even our house will revert to one of our Stanford cousins.”
    â€œThen where do you think you will live?”
    Penelope shrugged. “You know how it is, Miss Harrington. Someone in the family will take pity on us, will give us a home, and then will expect us to be grateful for the rest of our lives.”
    There was a bitter sound to her words, but Lucy couldn’t blame her. Unwanted or unwed female relatives had very few options if their menfolk died. She had always known that if she didn’t marry, Anthony or her younger siblings would give her a home where she would be valued. But many women weren’t so lucky and became unpaid drudges to their richer relatives.
    The sound of a carriage stopping outside the rectory brought Penelope to her feet. “I suppose I’d better go and finish dressing before the vultures descend to offer their condolences.”
    â€œWill Dorothea be well enough to come down?” Lucy moved toward the door and picked up the bundle of dirty bedclothes.
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œThen I will go and greet our callers.” Lucy hesitated. “If you don’t wish to speak to anyone, Penelope, no one will fault you for it.”
    â€œYes they will. They will think I am too ashamed of my own mother to face them, but I have done nothing wrong, and I refuse to be cowed.”
    She swept past Lucy and went into her bedchamber, closing the door behind her with a definite bang.
    On the landing Lucy almost ran into Betty, who had been coming to fetch her down to the parlor. She thrust the washing into the maid’s arms and patted her own hair before descending the stairs. She suspected the rectory would soon be awash with villagers and wedding guests eager to see the Chingfords and relive the tragedy over tea and cake. Luckily, Mrs. Fielding had baked enough for a hundred such visitors.
    Would her father emerge to accept the condolences of his parishioners, or would he continue to hide himself away in his study? And was his nonappearance due to grief, anger, or regret? She hated to consider her father amongst those who had argued with Mrs. Chingford on that fateful day, but she couldn’t allow her prejudices to cloud her judgment.
    Opening the door into the parlor, she surveyed the early visitors, who were mainly the elderly village busybodies who prided themselves on finding out all the juicy gossip first. Also present was the new curate, George, who was handing round cake and chatting with his parishioners Mr. Thomas Fairfax and Mrs. Fairfax.
    She went over to Mr. Fairfax, and he bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington. Mrs. Fairfax wished to visit to offer her condolences to you and the Chingford family.”
    Lucy waited for the widow to draw back her veil and was surprised to see real tears on her cheeks.
    â€œI am so sorry,” she choked out in a small whisper. “Your poor, dear papa. I had to come. . . .” She gripped Lucy’s hand very tightly between her own. “The Chingford ladies must be devastated.”
    â€œIs Miss Chingford coming down today?” Mr. Fairfax made a slight movement forward and gently disengaged the widow’s gloved fingers